


Being a bodyguard is boring work

by StillNotGinger10



Series: RoyEd OTPoly 2020 [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Death Threats, Ed Swears, Ed has a crush, Ed is 18 but still in the military, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV First Person, Pre-Relationship, Roy has a crush too but Ed doesn't know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillNotGinger10/pseuds/StillNotGinger10
Summary: “I’m working on it,” Hughes said, and if someone was really after Mustang, then Hughes would sniff them out soon enough. Threatening the best friend of someone with his own investigations team was a mistake. Hell, threatening the Flame Alchemist was an even bigger one. Whoever it was, he must be an idiot.“Well,” I said, “figure it out quick so Al and I can hit the road again. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on Colonel Bastard over here.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the grumbling colonel.“You’re too kind, Fullmetal,” Mustang said.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: RoyEd OTPoly 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815763
Comments: 15
Kudos: 130
Collections: RoyEd OTPoly 2020





	Being a bodyguard is boring work

**Author's Note:**

> My first FMA fic in awhile, and I'm pretty happy with it :D I wrote it all in one sitting too late at night, but I think I caught all the typos and any time I accidentally switched into third person.
> 
> I wanted Ed to be 18 but also wanted him to have alchemy and be traveling with Al, so this is set in an au where it took them years longer to learn about the stone and promised day and everything. So at 18, Ed is still in the same boat he was at 14: working for the military and trying to get Al's body back. Though, tbh, nothing that's a major part of the FMA plot (homunculi, philosophers stone, human transmutation, etc.) is mentioned in this fic.
> 
> This was made fore the RoyEd OTPoly event, which is so much fun so far! I did a hotel level fill for this one.  
> This was my prompt:
> 
> Position name: Central HQ  
> Property name: Intelligence Squad  
> Prompt: Roy receives intelligence information that someone is planning an attack on him. Ed is there to save him. Word count: 429-866  
> House level: Use first person. Word count: 1265-2378  
> Hotel level: (I'm going to post the hotel level prompt in the end notes because it gives away the ending) Max word count: 3859

“Want me to stick around? Keep an eye out for trouble and help play bodyguard?” The words were out of my mouth before I’d really thought about it, but wasn't that how it always was? If I heard about a problem, one I could fix, I jumped in to help so that someone else didn't have to suffer.

Of course, the looks Hughes and Mustang shot me made me want to take the offer back. Mustang looked surprised, pleasantly so, but the surprise itself was annoying. What’d he think I was going to do after hearing someone was out to kill him, hand out maps to his office? Hughes looked like he planned this whole conversation, which he may have. He was scary with stuff like that. Kind of made me want to punch Mustang just to do something unpredictable.

“That’d be great, Ed,” Hughes said, still smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

“So, what do you know about them? The one makin’ threats?” I asked as I made my way over to Mustang’s desk from where I’d been leaning in the doorway.

“Not much,” Hughes admitted. “Just that a man is running around saying he plans to assassinate our favorite colonel, and apparently it was someone powerful enough to make my sources take the threat seriously.”

Hughes’s people wouldn't balk at any random thug, but that also wasn’t much to go off of. Annoyingly little. I sighed as I hopped up onto the corner of Mustang’s desk. A stack of papers fell to the ground, making the bastard groan, but it was his fault for not finishing his work sooner. “That’s a shit lead,” I said in favor of ignoring Mustang.

“I’m working on it,” Hughes said, and if someone was really after Mustang, then Hughes would sniff them out soon enough. Threatening the best friend of someone with his own investigations team was a mistake. Hell, threatening the Flame Alchemist was an even bigger one. Whoever it was, he must be an idiot.

Something poked my lower back. Then poked it again. If Mustang thought those wimpy moves would get me off of his desk, he’d better think again. I stretched my arms up over my head only to lower them back behind me so they could support my weight. If more papers fell off the desk as my hands slid into place, shit happens.

“Well,” I said, “figure it out quick so Al and I can hit the road again. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on Colonel Bastard over here.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the grumbling colonel.

“You’re too kind, Fullmetal,” Mustang said.

“I know.” Finally, I looked back at him, but only to offer my best shit eating grin.

* * *

The problem with shadowing the colonel was that his job was boring as fuck. I really should have expected that—it was part of the reason I was happy to travel so much—but somehow it still surprised me. It was only made worse by the fact that there was only so much I could talk to the others in the office before Hawkeye’s hand dropped to her gun. Then I had to let them get back to work.

Which is how I wound up a few hours later sprawled out on Mustang’s couch. He also had work to do, but after I spent the first half hour in his office annoying him by making sure that he stayed on task, Hawkeye trusted me enough to leave us alone.

“Don’t you ever want to just get out and do something?” I asked him, fed up by the never-ending page turning happening at his desk.

Mustang looked unimpressed. He had on his ‘don't ask stupid questions, Fullmetal’ stare. “Somebody has to do the paperwork.”

“But if you had a choice,” I said. “Hypothetically, would you rather the cushy office job or fighting random alchemists in random towns?”

“Would I rather your job or mine?”

“I guess.”

“Mine.” That was it. That was the whole answer. Ugh was Mustang _trying_ to make this even more boring?

“Why?” I asked, just barely keeping the whine out of my voice.

“Aren’t you the one always calling me lazy?” he asked, which was a fair point, but like hell if I’d admit that. Instead I just stared at him, face blank. We both knew the bastard wasn’t lazy; he just pretended to be.

He stared back.

Despite having a better view than staring at the ceiling, having a staring contest with Mustang was just as boring.

“Argh!” I groaned in frustration as I tore my eyes away. “I’m going to die from lack of stimulation.” Without looking, I pointed my finger at him. “As my CO, you should care.”

“If you’re bored, you can help with paperwork,” he said in a voice too innocent for such an evil suggestion.

“Are you trying to kill me faster?”

There was a sigh from the desk. It was one of the loud, long ones that I’m always proud to be the cause of.

“If I answer you, will you stop talking?”

I couldn't help giving him my own ‘are you stupid?’ look. “Have you ever had a conversation before?”

Another sigh, then finally, he gave in. “I suppose it’ll at least be less distracting than your whining.” He was lucky I didn’t kick his ass for the whining comment, but I let it slide. I was nice like that. He continued, “My job is less dangerous.”

“I’m literally only here because your life is in danger.”

“And,” he ignored me, the bastard, “it comes with less risk of me being a danger to others.”

Huh. It wasn't like I hadn’t noticed that Mustang avoided combat ever since the war, but he didn’t often admit it. That was not the direction I wanted the conversation to go. Abort. Reverse. Find a happier route.

“You at least get to leave the office for lunch, right?”

* * *

After a very uneventful day, Hughes was no closer to uncovering the threat and I was still stuck with the colonel, which meant that Al and I were bunking with him for our stay in Central. Al not being able to sleep was a good thing for once in our cursed lives. He could keep watch in case anyone tried to break in at night.

Still, the constant threat of possible attack made for a restless night. Every noise woke me up, and apparently, I wasn’t the only one. After a few hours, I heard a louder noise than the usual creaking floorboard or shift of Al’s armor.

“The colonel is in the kitchen,” Al whispered when I started looking around for the source of the noise.

I nodded before getting up. Part of me wanted to make sure the he was okay, even if all logic said that he was. I made my way into the kitchen to find Mustang in his pajamas making a cup of tea. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him without his hair and clothes in pristine condition. The messy look made him seem softer, more approachable. It was…nice.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly.

“Nah,” I lied. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Just thirsty. Want some?”

“Sure.” It was weird talking to Mustang without arguing, but not that unusual when out of the office. We could get along when at Hughes’s house or the few times we’d gone out for lunch. The back and forth, the teasing, it was more habit than anything at this point. And maybe a little fun.

Once we were sitting at the table, I asked, “So, any idea who’d want to kill you?” Might as well face the problem head on.

Mustang’s face twisted in displeasure. He must be tired if he was showing emotion so freely. “Plenty of people, but I can’t think of any that would announce it so blatantly,” he said.

That wasn't helpful.

“Is my living room in shambles yet?” he asked. So, maybe he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yup,” I said brightly. “Craters everywhere. The books are on fire. We destroyed the couch. You know how it is.” I shrugged for good measure.

The bastard had the audacity to smile. And damn him if it combined with the bed head and pajamas didn't make him look _cute_. I’d been noticing that a lot more lately. When I was twelve, the colonel was just a stupid, smug adult. When I was fourteen, I had to grudgingly admit his skill at alchemy (never to his face, of course) but thought he wasted too much time going on dates all around the city. At sixteen, I learned that his dates were informants, and hated how relieved that made me. By then, I was annoyed at how handsome he was, not because I was jealous like Havoc, but because it was distracting. And because I knew he was out of my league. But at eighteen? Part of me was dumb enough to think I had a chance. I’d gotten much better at ignoring my crush, but every once in a while, I’d notice his laugh, or his sense of humor, or his intelligence, and I’d be hit all over again. Like when he had a sleepy smile and mussed hair.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he pulled me from my thoughts. “You’d never set a book on fire.”

“No,” I said. “I read a few of them though.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

“All of them,” I said honestly. “I’m staying with you every time I’m in Central until I read my way through your library, by the way.”

“I don't get a say in this, do I?” he asked with a small chuckle.

“Nope.”

I thought he’d at least pretend to be upset, but he just nodded. “I suppose that’s fair given that I’ll owe you for your help this week.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled as I looked away. Damn, I could feel my cheeks heating up already. “Wasn’t like I was going to sit back while you were in danger.”

“Careful, Fullmetal. Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think you care.”

I forced a laugh. “You wish.”

* * *

The next day, I stole Mustang’s paperweight. I didn't go far with it. I sat on the floor, leaning my back against his desk, and transmuted the metal into a perfect sphere that I could roll around.

When that got boring, I started transmuting it into random shapes: a gargoyle, Al, Winry, fire that I pretended to use to light Mustang’s pants on fire. Then Mustang started giving me suggestions of what to make: Black Hayate, Hawkeye, sculptures of the molecular structure of different compounds. It was like a game, and then a challenge. Could he name something that I couldn't make? That I wouldn't know offhand? But as is the case with anything fun in the military, it was put to an end far too soon as Mustang was called back to work.

A knock on the door and Hawkeye announcing that someone or other was there for a meeting was enough to make me get off the floor and lean against the wall behind Mustang’s desk. If whoever this was was the one making threats, then I was going to be ready for them.

Another colonel came into the room, but I didn't bother catching his name. Would it even matter, really? All of the brass were smarmy, annoying, and meant to be avoided. He didn’t seem happy about my being in the room. That was suspicious. As I stared at him, looking for any trace of a threat, he started fidgeting. He sure was nervous for someone just there for a meeting. Something was up.

“Fullmetal is shadowing me today,” Mustang said in response to the man’s hints that I should leave. “He’s curious about the office work given to state alchemists that decide to take on a more involved role in the military.”

The man sputtered. “He might be in Central _more_ often?”

“That a fucking problem?” I bit out. Mustang raised a hand to hold me back, but at least it was under the desk where only I could see. I huffed as I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms and propping my boot flat against the wall behind me.

“No, of course not,” he said before quickly changing the subject. “Colonel Mustang, I brought a gift.” It was a bottle of scotch. So, he was planning on using poison, was he? I grabbed the bottle right out of Mustang’s hands and with a clap, analyzed the chemicals inside. Not poison, just scotch. The cheap stuff too if I wasn't mistaken.

I wrinkled my nose as I handed it back. “It’s fine,” I told Mustang. “But let me know before you drink it. I have an array that can make it better.” Mustang raised his eyebrow at that, but like hell I was going to explain anything to Mustang that I didn't have to, so I raised my brow right back.

“Did you…think I poisoned it?” Colonel What’s-his-face asked slowly.

“Should I think you poisoned it?” I asked. If I’d learned anything from fielding questions about Al’s armor over the years, it was that making people uncomfortable was a good way to get them to shut up or change the topic. I let the officer flounder for a minute before offering, “Did you have a reason for meeting or are you just trying to waste our time?”

“Right, yes!” he said, jumping like I’d stabbed him or something. “Colonel, I came to speak with you again about my niece,” he said, which sounded boring until he mentioned that his niece was an alchemist. That caught my attention for all of two minutes before it became clear that she was a novice that struggled with the basics. She must be a kid. Ugh did we have to hear about more children they were trying to funnel into the military? At least she didn’t sound skilled enough to pass the test anytime soon.

In an effort to entertain myself, I started playing with the paper weight again. Clap and it’s a dragon. Clap and it’s a pocket watch. Clap and it’s a knife. Huh the balance turned out pretty good this time. I must be getting better at making knives. I’d have to show Hughes later, I thought as I tossed it experimentally a few times.

By the third toss I realized that the room had gone quiet. Looking up, I saw that the conversation seemed over and they were watching me now. Shit, was I supposed to have said something? I don't remember them asking anything.

“Are you done?” I asked the other colonel. He yelped, nodded, and practically ran from the room. Weird, but whatever. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, I flopped back into my spot on the floor and started transmuting the paper weight again.

“That was weird,” I said without looking at Mustang. “Do you have a reputation for bringing kids into the military? I thought it was just me.” Maybe Mustang recommended kids all the time and I was the only one that made it in. Seemed unlikely with what I knew of Mustang, but that was the sort of rumor I could see being spread around. Why else would a random colonel want Mustang to endorse his niece.

“His niece is twenty-four years old.”

I whipped my head around. No fucking way.

“No fucking way.”

Mustang nodded solemnly. “He’s been asking me to recommend her for a while now.”

“ _Why?”_

“Because a state alchemist recommendation carries more weight than that of an officer’s, and it’ll carry much more weight than that of a relative.”

“No,” I said. “Why would you recommend her when she clearly wouldn't make it? I could do better transmutations than he was describing when I was toddler.”

“Alas, not everyone can be a prodigy.”

“Shut up,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Prodigy means I can figure out how your transmutations work from watching you do them a couple times, or maybe even just seeing the array, but it’d take me years to be able to control fire like you do. You were smart enough to figure that out, so you passed the test. That shit’s impressive. His niece isn’t.”

Mustang’s hidden laughter turned into a smile. “Did you just compliment me?”

“No, you’re hearing things,” I said before holding the misshapen paperweight out to him. “Look, I made you.”

“…you added horns to my head.” There weren’t just horns on his head, there were flames dancing around him and a maniacal smile on his metallic face.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I really captured your soul.”

“Thanks,” Mustang said, his whole face scrunching up as he took the figure and looked at it more closely.

“You should keep it on your desk. Just like that.” That got me a bland look.

“No.”

“Fine,” I groaned. “Then give it back, I’m not done playing with it.”

As I went back to transmuting the paperweight, Mustang said, “You know, the office is much more interesting when you’re here.”

“Of course, it is,” I said. “It’s boring as shit without me around.”

Mustang hummed. “You should go to all of my meetings from now on.”

“They all that short?”

“I have a feeling they will be if you’re there.” I glanced back at Mustang to see he was smirking.

“I will if you keep the mini-Mustang on your desk,” I tried, holding up the figure I’d just remade, a smirk of my own in place.

He just laughed.

* * *

I don't know _how_ we got on the topic of Mustang’s dating history, but I couldn't deny that I was interested when he admitted that some of his dates had been real over the years and that they hadn’t all been with women. Of course, I couldn't help asking what those dates had been like.

“Are you asking me my type?” Mustang asked, and normally I’d back down but I had the perfect excuse to be asking personal questions.

“Mustang,” I said as seriously, and not nervously as I could. “It is so boring here that even your personal life has become interesting.”

He hummed. He was considering. But considering _what?_ Hopefully, his answer and not my motivations for asking the question. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that I like a partner’s who intelligent. A date isn’t fun if they can’t keep up with me.” It didn’t make my heart race to hear that. I wasn't thinking about how I fit that description. Nope, not at all

Except that it did and I was.

We were sitting on the couch in his office, and as he thought he draped his arm over the backrest. His hand being close to my shoulder shouldn't be distracting, damn it.

“I’ve always liked long, blond hair,” he said as his fingers found my brain. That touch might have been enough to kill me if I didn’t already owe my life to Al.

“And—”

But Mustang was cut off as his office door was thrown open. The hand left my hair, but Mustang didn’t move away as Hughes let himself in.

“Great news!” he called. “I found the source of the threats.”

“Who?” Mustang asked as he sat up straight. Had he really been leaning that much closer?

“It was a strong state alchemist,” Hughes said.

“A state alchemist?” Mustang asked. Apparently, they weren’t on the list of enemies he’d been mentally compiling.

“Yup,” Hughes said. “And I have a question for Ed.”

“Me?” Did I know whoever the would-be assassin was?

Hughes nodded. “You and Al got to town a few days ago, right?”

“Yeah?” So?

“Did you happen to stop by the food stand by the train station?”

“Yeah? I was hungry. Colonel Bastard rushed us back to Central and I missed lunch.”

“Did you complain about the colonel while getting food?”

“Probably,” I said. I usually got off the train complaining about Mustang. It was practically tradition at this point.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Mustang said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“What?” I asked. There was no way they were mad about my complaints after not saying anything for years.

Hughes’s grin grew. “Did you say you wanted to kill the colonel?”

“I don’t know,” I burst out. “Probably? I was hungry, and mad, and I usually want to kill him!”

“I have it from a reliable source that the Fullmetal Alchemist threatened to kill the Flame Alchemist. Loudly. In a public space.”

So? I was about to ask, but then I realized…

“Someone _believed_ me?” What kind of idiot took my complaining seriously?

“Apparently,” Hughes said with a shrug. “In fact, they relayed to me your exact words. Do you remember what they were?”

“Why the hell would I remember that?”

“Because,” he said. “You said you were going to punch Colonel Mustang in his pretty face with your automail fist. And if he could still breath after that, you’d—well, from there we get to the death threats.”

Damn it. That got me blushing again.

“You think I’m pretty?” Mustang asked like the complete bastard he was.

“No,” I snapped. I rose to my feet, away from the hand that was making its way back to my braid. “I think your life’s not in danger, so I’m leaving.”

“You don't have a mission,” he called after me.

“Bye!” I called just as I got to the door.

“Wait!”

Against every embarrassed fiber of my being, I turned to look at Mustang.

“You’re still staying over tonight, right? You haven’t finished reading all of my books.”

Dammit. I didn't want to give in, but another night of reading with Al and drinking tea with Mustang sounded nice.

“Fine, whatever,” I grumbled before running out of there.

**Author's Note:**

> Hotel level: Ed was the culprit all along. Max word count: 3859
> 
> This was fun to write, and I'm so happy to be getting back into the FMA fandom! Let me know what you thought with a kudos and/or comment please! Thanks!


End file.
